kissing it better with my lips drunk from your glass
by gustin puckerman
Summary: Barry more or less talks about Iris while accompanying a tipsy Caitlin back home. Post 1x05 Plastique. Oneshot.


**Set after the events in 1x05 of The Flash, because I want some. Posted on Tumblr & AO3 as well**.

...

**kissing it better with my lips drunk from your glass**.

It's a little more close to midnight when Barry's certain that Caitlin should very well be heading back to her apartment to get some well-deserved rest after the, what? Tenth? _Eleventh_ near-death experience he's had for the past month? He meant, imagine the panic she must have had went through going to be on the other side, hearing him almost dying again and again. Barry thought about those things, about how manic it could've driven someone to be on the edge, nearly everyday, and that's how they are, both Cisco and her and, yes, of course, Dr. Wells as well, to be just as involved in the chase as he was, but not facing death as he did.

It must've been like watching a thrilling movie right at the climax, with teeth grinding, and eyes unblinking, mind's wandering all over the place hoping for the best of events. That must've been it for them, Barry wondered again. He didn't normally talk about it (can't find a perfect reason to), but he thought about it. Constantly.

Every time Dr. Wells wheeled over and lectured on how he could've done it entirely differently, or when Cisco murmured an "I'm glad you're alive" when they're placing the suit back behind the glass.

_She_— well — she'd always just gave him these little smiles when she's nearly done on patching him up. Caitlin didn't like to talk much when she's treating him over — she once mentioned it that reminded her of everything she shouldn't be, didn't _want_ to be. His personal doctor. ("If I were," she pointed out once when they weren't very close in the beginning, "You should be paying me. _Luxuriously_." Barry noted on how he was a little afraid of her then, and how the matter still didn't change.

He's still a little afraid of her now.)

They didn't talk about it either. (Well, Cisco tried, but Barry distracted him by mentioning about video games, and that usually worked.) They might have to, one day, all four of them, he calculated, but he's okay with how things were so far, so he wouldn't dare mess it up.

Caitlin was slightly leaning against him when he managed to pull himself from out of his thoughts, his fingers still playing with the lid of the shot glass when her nose bumped a little with his shoulder. She smiled kindly at him when he looked over, and laughed a little under her breath before continuing, "What 'chu thinking about huh, Barry? You look… so far away."

"N… nothing," he looked down at her — _fourth?_ He thought, then frowned. _No_. That's her fifth one. That's new. "Hey, Cait… Caitlin…" He cleared his throat, watched her chugged down her drink before gently placing his hands over her glass. "I don't think, um. I don't think you should be drinking anymore."

She blinked at him when he took her glass away, placing it far away from her reach and tried smiling a little when she deepened her frown, pouting it might seemed. "You don't look so good," he added when she sniffled into her fingers, rubbing at her temple.

"I'm not drunk," she huffed a little childishly, knowing she'd caught the concern that must've been pooling over in his eyes. Iris had always told him how easy it was to tell what he was thinking. Well, her correct terms had accurately been "not a very good liar" but Barry's not supposed to think about anything-Iris tonight, so he won't.

Caitlin, however, he must think about.

Did Cisco left a manual somewhere — _how to take care of Caitlin Snow when she's even remotely drunk or ultimately drunk 101_ — because at this rate, Barry desperately needed it. Other than Iris (damn, there it was. He thought of her again!) and Sasha Manny during tenth grade, Barry's experience with drunk women are limited to none.

Which meant: not very good.

"Okay, you're not." Barry decided to say, beginning to grab on his coat and hers.

"What are you doing!" She snapped, and only then did Barry noticed how pink her cheeks had gotten. Should this be happening? Maybe it should. Usually when Iris was drunk, she laughed a lot. A _lot_. Sometimes at things that didn't even make sense. Which should be hilarious. To her. All Barry could think about when handling a drunk Iris was how to not let Joe found out (which didn't work. Joe always found out. He's a cop. Of course he would.)

Caitlin swayed a little and Barry caught her elbows, to which she shushed away in an alarming manner. "I want to drink!" She told him, then immediately grabbed on his sleeve; tugging it, once, nearly desperately. "Stay. We were having such a good time, aren't we?"

They were, Barry admitted. Outside of work, Caitlin could be a very pleasing person. Not that she wasn't, of course, inside the lab. But, okay, what he meant was: when Caitlin wasn't chastising him or going on and on about some biological discovery she'd just theorised or found, Barry wouldn't mind hanging out with her as much as he always did with Cisco.

(Cisco and him hang out a lot. It's surprising how much of a free time the dude has. Really. Barry's not joking.)

"I… I like to stay, Caitlin, but don't you think— no. You don't need anymore to drink." He waved off the bartender who was prompted to come closer, and pursed his lips when he realised the lady in question did not look very happy at what he's done.

"You can't tell me what or what not to do!"

"N-no, of course I can't, but Caitlin— you're not going to forgive me if you wake up tomorrow with a hangover. And I— I mean — I don't want you to, you know, hate me. Again." Barry still wasn't sure if she hated him in the first place, but she sure acted sour whenever she could. It's inspiring how far they've gotten since that first cold encounter.

"I'm not—" She frowned, this time with less heat than it was before, creating deep creases between her brows. "I don't _hate_ you, Barry."

Oh. Well.

He smiled, a little. "I'm glad to hear that." And then, because he suddenly thought it mattered somehow, he added, "I don't, uh, I don't hate you too, you know. Actually, I really admire you. I want you to know that. You're very, uh, you're very intelligent, Caitlin. And fun, too. I'm glad I'm friends with you."

She looked like she's concentrating hard on his words, as though that was the first time she'd ever heard such confession coming from anyone (and he thought for a second: was it?) before biting on her bottom lips, and scrunching up her nose. She looked cute like that, he didn't say, calming the stupid blush that would've rose if he didn't manage to shrug off the thought as quickly as he did. "We are… _friends_, aren't we?"

Barry blinked at that. Several times.

"Of course we are. But… only if you want us to be." He smiled again, catching her eyes. "Do you want to?"

After everything, it would hurt a little if she'd say no.

Instead, despite what horror he'd imagined, she smiled — a warm, big, pretty smile — and nodded her head, biting on her bottom lips again. Which, he realised, was a bit distracting. "Friends would be nice."

After some coaxing, Barry finally managed to get her out of her stool and away from the bar. He shrugged on her coat for her when they're standing outside, the bartender — named Max, bless him — already called up a cab for them. She shuddered when he fixed up her hair for her while she's trying her best to stand well on her own two feet (it didn't work. She's still leaning a little against him to support herself. Not that he mind it.) and his throat swelled up when he didn't point out how the pink looked good on her cheeks. She breathed out, "It's cold," and thudded her temple with his shoulder.

He pursed his lips, tapping his sole against the pavements. "Don't worry, you're okay."

She's silent for a while, then propping her chin up, she tried focusing her gaze on him. "Why don't you just run us home?"

"I would," he admitted, "But I don't know your address."

"Oh, is that why you're waiting for the cab with me?" She sounded a little surprise, but only a little, fixing back her gaze on the road but not attempting to stand on her own any longer. It's okay, Barry decided. It's actually nice to feel a pressure against his side — at least he knew she's not in a bigger danger to trip and land face-flat on the side of the road. It would've been embarrassing for everybody.

"I'll be with you until you get home. Safely. Okay?"

She glanced at him once, a thoughtful expression running through her face, before she nodded mutely, blinking once. "Okay."

A cab finally pulled over, and Barry assisted as best as he could to make sure Caitlin was well seated, her head resting against the cool window when they're both in. After giving out her address — to which he stored later to keep and remember — she began to close her eyes and Barry had to squeeze her hand to make sure she didn't fall asleep.

"That's okay, Barry. The driver's know where we're heading." She mumbled, still having her eyes closed.

Still.

"I know, but I need you to stay awake. I wouldn't want to force you to wake up when you don't want to later. Caitlin?"

"I'm here."

"Caitlin, you have to stay awake. Please."

"You sound like a baby," she half-snapped, finally opening up one eye and snuggling more into her coat. He sighed when he kept her eyes open, her bare fingers cold against his much-warmer ones. She squeezed his hand back. "Am I making a fool out of myself?"

"What?" He blurted out, then: "No. No, you're not."

"Okay. Just making sure," she mumbled, and Barry leaned back to closely watch what her next move would be. She didn't shift much — didn't even bother taking back her hand from his — and sighed while she stared out of the window as they passed more buildings and cars.

"Hey, Barry?"

"Yes, Caitlin?"

"Why are you sad? You're sad tonight, aren't you? And it's not because of Bette, either. It's more than that." She looked at him and Barry realised her pinking cheeks had melted into being ultimately pale, and he unconsciously squeezed their joined hands to show his alarm.

"It's… uh, it's nothing." He looked away, and finally drew his hand from her hold, immediately missing the cold sensation.

She rolled her eyes at that, to which she winced straightly afterwards and huffed, "It's not _nothing_."

"I…"

"Barry," she exhaled coolly, trying. "You can— tell me, you know. You can tell me anything. If you want to. I would… hear it. I don't even have to place my opinion in it, if you don't want me to."

He stared at her. For a very long time.

Then, drawing out a long, dragging breath, he bit back his cowardice and let out: "I might've broken up with Iris." He, of course, didn't mean to sound like it did, but oh well. The damage's been done. He figured he'd done worse than this, and, if he's lucky, Caitlin might not even want to further the conversation. (Anything that resembled a relationship was not a comfortable topic she'd like to dwell over, he knew.)

She looked genuinely shocked, before: "I— I didn't knew you guys were— I thought Eddie and her—"

"Well, yes. _Yeah_. Eddie and her… She's dating Eddie. Apparently everybody in the whole world knows that. So. I, uh, I mean… I don't _mind_," of course he minded, but Caitlin probably knew that, so it's not like it mattered if he admitted aloud or not. Barry sighed, looked downward at his laps dejectedly, "It's not… I just… I told her it's best if we don't see each other for a while. I mean, in the mean time."

This time it was her turn to look at him. For a very long time.

Needless to say, it was extremely intense.

"That sounded like a break-up to me," was what she commented in the end. Of course.

Barry could actually _feel_ himself shrinking in his seat. "Yes, well, I suppose…" He sighed, "That's how a long time best friends break up. Temporarily, I guess."

"That sounds… serious." She blew out a breath. "Are you okay?"

"I'm still standing."

"Is it because of the blog?"

He didn't answer. Didn't have to.

"Barry."

"I'm okay." He tried smiling. _Tried_. "I'll be okay."

She scrunched up her nose again and scratched at her temple, blowing out more air from her mouth as she said, "Barry, I just—"

"Miss?" The cabbie interrupted, and Caitlin snapped out from whatever it was that she's trying to say and concentrated into giving the driver some specific instructions straight to her house. They made it there without saying anything more, and, after paying the cab, Barry slowly made sure the young doctor was well enough to stand outside without tripping. She led him to her apartment — which wasn't an apartment at all (it was an actual house, with actual yard and everything) — and fumbled with the key when they got to the front door.

Suddenly:

"It still smelled like him, you know." She said, and Barry looked at the key that now sat at the middle of her palm. "The closet. Everything in the house… my mom cleaned it, got rid of his stuff. But. The closet, it just—"

"Caitlin."

"Thank you for not making sure I got drunk."

It took him a moment, but: "Yeah, of course." Barry paused, "And, you're not drunk."

"Yeah," she smiled at that, chuckling. "Thank you for agreeing with me."

"Anytime." He laughed, a little.

"Barry?"

"Yeah?"

"You hold on, okay." She smiled sadly then, fluttering up her eyelashes in concern. "You're a nice person, Barry. One of the nicest—" She stopped, then brushed a hair away. "Good things should happen to you. They should. But… that's not how life works. So, what I'm trying to say is," she bit her bottom lips and Barry had to avert his eyes away, just because. "I'll be there if you need me, no matter what. Or at least, I'll try to. Drunk, or otherwise."

He hook a grin at the corner of his mouth at the end, letting her fingers slip from his wrist to his palm, and he sucked in a breath.

"I'm glad I'm friends with you, Barry. Thank you."

And with that, she got on her toes and landed the softest, most lingering kiss by the end of his lips that for a second, he feared he was imagining it. When he squeezed her hand — strong and cold and firm — Barry knew he wasn't.

She mumbled her good night and went inside.

He nodded his head and smiled before she did.

The night passed eventually, like everything else. He still felt a little dumb for lingering about her front door after she closed it like some nervous teenage boy contemplating between asking for a make-out session or running for his life; he walked away after that. He guessed, when it came down to it, nothing really happened that night.

Perhaps he'd just like to state out that the kiss indeed happen, as improbable as it had felt like. But it did. And it was nice and sweet and it still kind of made his heart skipped a beat when he was reminded of it.

But he liked it.

Because at least, for one thing, it kept his mind occupied long enough not to be depressed over Iris West (which he had been since he's fourteen and realised that he'd want nothing but to ask Iris for the Valentine's Dance as his_actual_ date and not his _adoptive brother_ or whatever) — and that, he guessed, was a very good thing.

(It kept him from being overly moody.)

And for another, Caitlin kissing him?

Not the worst thing he'd ever experience.

Maybe one day, he thought absently before drifting off to sleep, he can return the favour.

Maybe.


End file.
